Crooked Did He Fly
by Lizard Pie
Summary: Under the care of his brother, Ludwig grows into an adult. As much as the world around him would change and delve into chaos, at least something always remained the same.
1. 2

The child before him was 2, or 3, or something (he never was good at placing ages). The Holy Roman Empire had collapsed and morphed into a cluster of dozens of warring tribes who wanted to unite on paper without giving up efforts to dominate over one another.

Internal conflict left a child who could barely focus his eyes on something right before him. What it left was a child who was fiercely ill, and not experienced enough to understand that he should hide it in front of an observer. Especially when the observer was a battle-sculpted, callous nation who had never once hesitated to fight an enemy with every ounce of malice he had within him. Especially when a warrior who was riding a victory and felt nothing shy of invincible towered over him, the young nation should have been terrified.

But the conflict within him had caused this child to become lethargic, unfocused, and seemingly unable to even acknowledge the fact that there was anyone else in the room.

Prussia's king had assigned him to take care of this little one, and to help him grow into something worth aligning with. It was an odd bit of charity, and he'd retorted just as much, but obedience was a virtue. And, as Prussia always prided himself in being virtuous, he had agreed to the task. He had, however, come to reconsider as he looked over the child.

It… (Prussia took a quick moment to check, because damned if it would speak and confirm) _he _might have been brain-dead, blind, for all the movement it was doing in the hour Prussia had been in front of it… him.

This new nation was utterly defenseless, and couldn't as much as stand up with all the troubles its parts were causing. If Prussia even hinted to the rest of the world that a new nation had been formed, in this state he certainly would have been slaughtered. It wasn't like Prussia who'd essentially been born with a sword in his hand. This child was something very different.

Prussia told him that he had been extremely lucky, and was now the little brother of the most awesome nation in the world. There was no response whatsoever.

Prussia said that he'd been assigned to take care of him, and raise him to be strong and a warrior and whatever the like. Again, nothing.

Prussia asked him if he was stupid, or if he was just trying to ignore his older brother. The child looked up with as much interest as he could muster.

Prussia told him that he'd be called Ludwig from then on, at least until Prussia had decided him strong enough for anything else. The child didn't even blink.

Prussia seriously doubted the boy could even see him…

There was chirping from some bird somewhere to the right, and who was now Ludwig snapped his attention to the noise. He reached out for the bird to come to him, but as was typical of random birds it completely refused.

At least Ludwig could hear and move. He was still something that needed to be built completely, but at least it was a start. Or something.

Prussia picked the toddler up and headed back to his house.


	2. 6

Ludwig was 6, according to what his brother would tell people when they'd ask. And, evidently, he'd just turned it. It was indicated by the fact that Gilbert had changed the number he would mention, rather than anything concrete like a date. It meant that, when they went home, Ludwig's height would be marked on the wall. That was most certainly something to be proud of. His brother held growing taller and stronger at the same degree of importance as prayer, breathing, and eating.

As he stood with his back to the wall, he stood on the balls of his feet in an effort to exaggerate the difference between one mark and another. The straining was more than obvious, and Gilbert irritably gave him a whap on the head for the impertinence. Ludwig sulked, but still kept his back painfully straight as Gilbert uncapped his pen and marked off on the wall.

Because of his efforts, Ludwig did succeed in growing past the previous line. Unfortunately, the difference was minor; at least, that's what his brother's expression said.

Ludwig shrunk down in embarrassment, and Gilbert finally glanced over. He laughed and patted Ludwig on the head. Gilbert assured him that he'd grow in time, and that until it happened Prussia would defend him. He winked and promised that he'd be around for as long as it took. But at the moment, he had to leave again because there was a war to fight in Denmark.

As much as Ludwig begged him to stay, Gilbert conceded in nothing but kissing his forehead and saying that he'd bring something nice back. Ludwig was left with Elizabeta as Gilbert mounted his horse and hurried off to battle.

Elizabeta, by extension, brought Ludwig back to be around Roderich. He spent the day learning to bake, to play music. He read the works of who they referred to as _his_ poets and theorists until he fell asleep.

He awoke in the heavily bandaged arms of his brother, whose face was lined and stressed in his sleep.

The little bird, the only one allowed to join his brother, had nestled into the discarded coat. His brother never seemed to notice it, or, at least, he never mentioned that he did.

Gilbert always said that, if you really needed it, if you really prayed hard enough and were a good-enough Christian, God would send down a guardian angel. Ludwig assumed that must have been the one for his brother; as he certainly believed that his brother did enough to constitute it.

Ludwig smiled at the sleeping bird, and decided it must have been a very good angel. His brother had again been returned to him, stressed and injured but alive, and he thanked the little bird for the millionth time.

Whether it had even opened its eyes, he didn't know. He'd cuddled against his brother and fallen asleep.

In the morning, Gilbert told him that they wouldn't be seeing Roderich or Elizabeta for a long while; because of what he called betrayal, though he wouldn't expand upon that. He said that all of the 'artsy shit' needed to wait, and they'd begin to work on what he called a constitution.

Gilbert congratulated him, and said that he was finally going to become a man.

As they began to work, Ludwig still had no idea exactly what that meant.


	3. 8

He was 8, and he had names to relearn. He had spent time with Hungary and Austria, France, Turkey, and Belgium. He'd spent his time with Russia, and Poland when his brother felt that he needed to. There was England once and a while, and England had little brothers called 'colonies'; though nobody really bothered to remember their names. There was Italy (two of them, right?), and Switzerland, and Norway… the list went on and on.

Almost all of them, though, were not to be trusted if you listened to his brother.

Speaking of, his brother was now Prussia; and suddenly all those whispers about a psychotic narcissist had a face and a reality. The subject (and possibly even source) of those rumors had a room down the hall where he slept and a couch where he had his ever-changing friends would drink themselves into idiocy and a voice that always made Ludwig get up with excitement and rush to the door when it finally returned. No matter what Ludwig knew, he never ran any slower.

It took pause to remember if he was, indeed, Ludwig, because Prussia had finally changed his name to the "German Empire". But only, he said, around 'people like us'. To everyone else, he was Ludwig and his brothers were 'Gilbert' and 'Roderich', the woman who his brother called a brother was 'Elizabeta', and his brother's drinking buddies used to be 'Francis' and 'Antonio' (even though Francis had become an enemy they were currently at war with), and the list again went on and on.

And, considering his brother had decided that it was finally time to start training, the fact that his entire world had been relabeled was made all the more confusing. Physical exhaustion paired with Prussia cramming centuries of military, educational, and governmental expertise into Germany left very little room to digest all of this new information. Ludwig, German Empire, repeated everything in his head to an obsessive degree.

As they rode, Prussia lectured him on how to spot an enemy, how to withstand torture, how to lie without detection. When they would dismount, he would demonstrate how to be deadly with every weapon available at the time (and many things which wouldn't be counted as weapons by pretty much anyone else).

Prussia instructed him on a world view that resolved around keeping a heavy air of distrust around you. Allies only went so far, nobody remained friends forever no matter what they would say, and Prussia said that Germany could never forget that or he might be killed.

He explained how eloquence was reserved for speeches to rally troops and political leaders only, but absolutely everything one did needed to be within a mindset of unshakable self-confidence. You couldn't survive the world without at least that.

Prussia had decided that Germany needed to practice speeches; being soft-spoken was for those who wanted to be run over.

Since being imposing was important, and Germany was still far too short to cut it, he spent his evenings standing on a dining-room chair and giving mock addresses about this and that. Prussia would give praise and pointers when he felt it necessary; and kept a wide, fanged grin whenever he was being quiet.

From its perch on his brother's hat, the bird watched Prussia watch Germany, and Germany watched it right back.

Sometimes, when Prussia would sit up to clap, the bird flapped its wings as if to perform the same gesture.

Sometimes, on the battle field when he was separated from his brother and things were getting particularly scary, Germany thought he felt tiny claws gripping his hair.

Germany mentioned this once when he was being tucked into bed, and Prussia had smiled broadly and confirmed that it had to be an angel watching over him. His prayers should be twice as grateful as they usually were. Prussia never seemed to understand when Germany would tell him the angel followed him, as well; at least, in no way that was more serious than humoring.

It was a bit upsetting, but Germany resigned to pray 4 times as hard as usual, for the both of them.


	4. 14

He'd been 10 before, and the world had been a lovely place.

Prussia had a silky charm when he was focused upon diplomacy, and under his new boss's orders he managed to successfully isolate France with treaties instead of going to yet another war. It had been a satisfying 'fuck you' for all of the problems that France had caused over the years. And, as France whined and sat alone, Prussia had brought Germany along in relishing the alliances they could enjoy because of his verbal skills.

Germany found that his brother was an entirely different person when his battle injuries were allowed to heal, and when he was content with himself rather than high on adrenaline from a successful slaughter. He was as docile as Germany had ever seen him, and actually happy.

At least, outwardly.

Inwardly, Prussia had issues that Germany hadn't been able to see. That Germany was disgusted with himself that he hadn't been able to see; especially over so long. He'd just focused on enjoying hearing real laughs and attending dinners, he hadn't paused for a second to think that maybe, just maybe, something was very wrong.

He turned 14, and Prussia had a bit of a cold. Their old boss was assassinated, he said, and change was going to happen. He certainly hoped that Germany had been paying attention before, because things were about to get exceedingly interesting.

Prussia gave his brother a leg-up onto his horse, and asked him: what had he been told about allies?

Allies were fleeting, Germany repeated, and weren't to be trusted very far.

Prussia nodded in approval as he climbed aboard his own horse. He said that he certainly hoped that Germany had been following the lesson as well as he recited it, because if he had been he was an actor of the finest caliber.

He said that with a smile that was made of nothing but mock approval. Germany shrunk down as he realized exactly how easily his brother had him figured out.

Prussia told him that getting too close was going to be his downfall, he guaranteed that. Someday, somewhere, it was going to crush him.

Germany wanted to disagree, because they had been so happy, and it had been so nice to be so happy, when they were with others. He damn well knew better, though, than to do so when his brother was in a mode of lecture where he refused to even look over.

As had essentially become a fad, Prussia led his brother on a trek of imperialism that was fun and thrilling, but exceedingly bad for public image. They received a telegram one night that France had broken free of the diplomatic walls they had built on his borders, and was in talks with England and Russia. He was constructing alliances, as was the rest of Europe around them, which very pointedly excluded the German Empire.

It was to the point that it was difficult to so much as get a drink of water without being attacked, or at least being chased away, in territories which they had once considered to be allies. As the world became more perilous, they spent increasing amounts of time in Austria and Hungary's house in order to confirm allegiances.

When Germany was in their presence, they would laugh and smile and play music. When they thought he wasn't, they would speak in serious, hushed tones about concerns with the rest of the world. Discontent was brewing more strongly every day, and each one was quietly training and assembling armies for future militant needs. Germany would eavesdrop on the three of them, but never when Austria would leave the room.

Many a time, Prussia had sung the praises of Hungary as a warrior (when she wasn't in earshot, of course). Germany hadn't believed most of it, originally, in favor of the softer woman that he'd come to know in his childhood. But when she would whisper of battle with his brother, when they spoke of partitioning and genocide and starvation as if such things were nothing more or less routine than walking down the street to the market, he couldn't sit there and listen.

Not if he was going to be with them and them alone, which was becoming more the case every single day.

Germany wasn't a bad person; at least, that's what he told himself. And neither were Hungary or Austria or Prussia, everyone was just reacting to the times that were changing so much more quickly than they ever had before.

Even when Hungary and Prussia would gain a look of blood thirst that was nothing shy of chilling…. They weren't bad.

He couldn't live with himself if the only ones in the world who would talk to him on a friendly manner were… well… evil.

They weren't, he firmly decided. At least, his brother wasn't because the angel was still very much around. It slept in Prussia's hair as he wrote furiously in his diary; entries that Germany still wasn't allowed to read because of excuses and explanations that were ever-changing.

One night, Prussia had noticed Germany spying on him, and he'd smiled and asked Germany what he thought about Africa.

The bird watched Prussia watch Germany, and Germany watched it right back as he said he enjoyed it quite a bit.

Prussia grinned and messed his brother's hair as he said that was a very good sentiment; they would head out in the morning to defend their territories. He laughed a bit that England was a greedy bastard, and liked to get his hands into everyone else's business. He said that, on the trip, Prussia was going to let Germany show him exactly how much he'd picked up. The time for strategy was upon them.

He said it was good, it was very good, how much Germany had been listening around corners. He said that it was a great sign that Germany had grown to have a bit, more than a bit, of resentment because that would carry him a long ways if he nurtured it properly.

Prussia wouldn't go any further, he said that they both needed to sleep if they were going to travel so far and fight very well in the morning.

The bird stared at them both through the whole conversation, and nestled back down to sleep. Germany wondered what that meant. He prayed for guidance that night, but he fell asleep before he came to any answers.


	5. 16

He had just turned 16 and industry was booming all over Europe. It was especially true within Germany's territory because he put everything he had in him into his work. There wasn't much else to do, Prussia was gone more often than not in what he wouldn't admit was a desperate attempt to make an alliance with Russia to avoid a two-front attack. When asked how it was going, Prussia would say nothing aside from that Russia was 'very interesting'.

He would nearly tear the paper writing in his diary at the end of the night, though.

As he'd been asked to, Germany went about working on building up his armed fleet. But, honestly, it wasn't so much for his brother's peace-of-mind as his own ego.

He'd found himself in competition with England, and that was certainly something to be proud of. England's fleet was his pride and joy, and nobody could really build anything that caused him to even give a second look anymore. To have him scared enough to be scrambling to build up his forces was something that Germany hadn't originally thought himself capable of (though that had been his goal). It was inspiration, motivation, determination to beat down the other nation and prove exactly what sort of power he was capable of.

It was thrilling, it was _fun_, to have an aura of intimidation around him. To have other nations pause when he'd walk in the room sent a chill down his spine, and he finally had begun to understand why his brother was so giddy about this sort of thing.

That was why he kept building. That must have been why everyone around him kept building, because the entirety of Europe was now in an arms race. There was more communication and travel to each other's houses now then there had been in decades to show off new weaponry and to trash talk one another.

It was exhilarating, and even the loss of the fleet competition wasn't enough to dim Germany's spirits. It just made him more determined. More tense. More… something.

God, what was this feeling?

All around him, treaties and alliances were becoming unsure and breaking down. There was war in the Balkan League, in the collapsing Ottoman Empire, and Germany practically panted in excitement as the adrenaline began building in his veins for what his brother had predicted time and time again.

It was coming. He wasn't quite sure what, but _it_ was coming.

He turned 17 when he heard that Austria's boss had been assassinated by Bosnia. For the first time, his brother sat back and allowed Germany to go alone to try his diplomatic hand in attempts to quell what was going on.

He sat beside Austria and Hungary, across the table from Serbia, Russia, and France. Each of them had promised alliance to their respective sides, but nobody had been very definitive about what exactly they meant by that. Nor were they quite definitive about what exactly this particular meeting was meant to achieve, other than the public assertion that this was meant to prevent a war.

Everyone knew what was coming, they all knew that these procedures would do little, but still they sat at the table.

Germany and Russia eyed one another as Austria and Hungary read off their list of demands to the offending empire. Each one was more ridiculous than the last, each one was very obviously meant to antagonize rather than to compromise. But, honestly, it had all been expected.

Serbia looked to Russia, who leaned over to whisper in his ear. When Russia sat back up with a smile that hadn't changed once since the first day that Germany had seen him, Serbia had firmly agreed to 8 of the 10 demands.

Austria, just as firmly but infinitely more calmly, declared war.

All Germany had to do was to nod to Russia, and the older nation grinned lightly in full understanding that they had become engaged in it, as well.

When Germany had rushed home, he'd found Prussia looking over the chemical reserves with satisfaction. He looked up from the scientist he was speaking to, and gave his brother a hand signal of approval. Paired with a wide, excited grin, it all meant that Prussia couldn't wait to use all of the new toys that his brother had made.

The bird watched from where it sat on a box of newly-upgraded hand grenades.

For the first time, it watched Germany with an unrelenting stare.

Germany found himself unsettled, but he assured it that everything would be alright. He promised that he knew what he was doing, but it didn't seem convinced.

As he headed over to his brother, the feeling of eyes still bored into his back.


	6. 18

Germany turned 18, and he now was in what had been collectively dubbed the "Central Powers". It was a good name, he'd felt. It sounded like it was something that should mean not only victory, but one that was so overwhelming that it looked effortless.

He really wished that's what it had meant in reality.

The countless meetings to divvy up responsibilities had been pointless, evidently. Russia was still the elephant in the room, and nobody wanted to be the one to take it out. Especially not when they had far more tempting opponents to choose from.

It wasn't so much solved as it was stopped when they decided to split the baby. Prussia headed down to the African territories with little more than a wave of his hand, which left Germany to handle the French front and his brother's home. Communication was slow and usually rather irritable, but from what he could tell Austria was focused on the Serbians as he'd wanted. Hungary, despite her indignation, was left with the Russians.

It was the first time Germany had been entrusted to do anything alone . True, he'd been pitted against an enemy that his brother had been systematically weakening for centuries, but France was wiling when he was cornered. He needed a lot of attention. Germany stood a little taller, even if he had known somewhere in the back of his mind that it was only because they assumed it'd be over quickly.

One morning he received notice that Austria had suffered heavy losses on the Serbian front and was forced into retreat. Hungary diverted her already strained forces to keep her husband from being killed. Germany's forces were stretched much too thin to do anything when Russia spotted a weakness along the Prussian border.

Prussia returned almost immediately in an uncontrollable fury that he attributed strictly to Germany's failure to protect his house. That guerrillas had forced him into a retreat near immediately was roughly shoved under the rug.

This was added to a fierce naval battle between England and him; one where Germany learned the reality of every horror story he'd ever heard about fighting this nation in his preferred element. It was added to constantly running into a blond boy that he'd never seen before; one who spoke English near inaudibly and leaped upon ground almost the second Germany took his foot off it. It was added to so many new tactics and weapons that battles became accidental.

They had, originally, brushed off their few stumbles at the beginning. It'd just take a little longer, Austria had said with a shrug.

Germany and the Ottoman Empire defeated Russia, more thanks to his distraction than their skill.

Austria and Hungary managed to push Serbia into the hills, eventually, though it took a huge chunk of their forces with it. When they turned their attention to the Italians, who had numbers and horrible terrain on their side, it simply wasn't enough.

Germany stepped in when Austria and Hungary faltered more than their enemies, and ended up with at least part of the country in his custody. There was another one who'd escaped, and Germany had been set to go after him. A hasty letter from his brother said not to bother, so he didn't.

He spent as much of each day as he could spare guarding his prisoner, though he may as well not have come back. If there'd been even one attempt to escape, it'd probably been abandoned by a nap or the possibility of a meal. There was something unsettling and (he hated himself for thinking so) interesting about such an attitude, but Germany had far too much to do to pay it any mind.

Evidently, somewhere along the way, Germany had made a mistake. He'd attacked a British ship filled with weapons, he'd been positive of it. He double checked, he triple checked, because he wouldn't accept anything less of himself. But even so there was a mistake made and someone named "America" had been angered and begun to mobilize forces.

It wasn't his fault that he'd never heard of this nation; it had essentially spent the entirety of Germany's life in isolation. Prussia most certainly knew the name, and he'd greeted the news with an expletive. Evidently, he'd trained it back when it was still a colony; alongside France, Spain, and Poland. The boy had been a quick (if insolent) study, and he'd only been gaining power with all the lessons he'd been given.

Prussia tried to at least delay his arrival with treaty and (failing that) espionage, but England and this new nation were too close. When this boy (because that's all he looked to be) stepped onto the European war grounds it was as an enemy.

He took a few minutes to look around, simultaneously awed and disappointed by Europe. He half-listened to generals as he surveyed the battle scene, and kept a wide smirk on his face as if he'd already won.

When he began to fight, there was no question of why it had been there.

Word came quickly that Austria, just Austria, had attempted to surrender. Hungary tried to deny involvement, but Germany cut ties with the both of them. That left his brother, that left him, alone against the allies and their newest psychotic recruit.

With all the injuries he'd sustained, his brother had difficulty even standing.

Germany focused upon the blood around him if only because it seemed to be the only simple thing left. Nobody thought about until it was everywhere, and by that point the only concern was to keep yours and make someone else lose enough of theirs. It was almost comforting to concentrate on when the enemy was everywhere and any friends he had were either shying away from him or, in the cases of empires, slowly dying of injury.

The allies continued their steady advance, despite the best of Germany's efforts. Their numbers grew by thousands a day. Numbers alone smothered his supplies of food.

He was cornered, and they were going to starve him until he admitted it.

There was nothing left to do.

He surrendered, and thanked God that it was accepted before he died like the fierce Empires he'd grown up with.

These days, there was litigation to go with every victory. The allies bickered amongst themselves about how to divide up the spoils, and buried themselves in red tape that seemed to be longer and more confusing than the mess of the war they'd just finished up.

Germany wasn't heeded at the meetings, anyway, and headed back to his brother's bedside. He replaced the compress on Prussia's forehead, changed bandages where necessary, and prayed desperately in time with the shallow breathing.

The angel had cuddled itself against the crook of his brother's neck and watched the efforts around the quivering Adam's apple.

Germany asked it what he was supposed to do now that every nation had turned against him. Where was he to go when the only ally he'd ever held was killed off with a few bits of paper?

He yelled, or rather hissed as loudly as he was able to without waking Prussia, for it to stop being so damn cryptic if it actually was the angel he'd always believed it to be.

He wanted an answer.

He deserved one.

He'd kill for it if he had to.

The bird said nothing, it did nothing, it simply accepted his rage with silence.

Germany paused, and nodded that he understood.

If Prussia heard any of this, or if he had comprehended what he'd heard, Germany didn't know. All that mattered was that he kept on breathing.

That they both kept on breathing.

Planning took time, and it could wait for later.


	7. 19

He was 19, and it had become questionable whether Prussia would ever fully recover from either injury or illness. The decision had been made to move him completely into Germany's home to aid his healing. His brother hardly appreciated being evicted from his home, and even less so that he was meant to be confined to a bed. He was frustrated beyond all else, and because nobody else dared come near him the full brunt of the aggression was taken by Germany.

Prussia's tongue was as venomous as ever, and for Germany to hear his brother use everything in his arsenal was painful. There were apologies, when Prussia had enough pain killer in him to feel close to normal (or abnormal, depending on the dosage), but he was hardly lucid enough to remember the promises not to do those sorts of things again.

It was just out of illness, and he knew well that the words meant nothing. Just as Prussia had to know that the words in return were meaningless; it was all just stress relief that was sorely needed. The treaties the allies had arranged had been vicious, and aimed at making Germany so weak that he could never cause problems again. He'd expected much of it (having lost and all), but the recreation of Poland was enough to infuriate him.

When Prussia was in his right mind, he said this was the standard for war. He supposed that his brother was just as young and inexperienced as America was, if they were both confused over this sort of thing.

Among seemingly a million restrictions, France had demanded compensation that even the other allies had seen as ludicrous; especially for a nation with an already spiraling economy. Other than the slight surprise that England would go through with crippling a major trading partner (surprise diminished with the fact that Germany sat as biggest rival, as well), Prussia had felt it was normal. In the few lucid moments, he just patted his brother on the head and told him to carry on through it all.

Germany worked around the clock, and when that wasn't enough to make even a dent he began to print more money in efforts to make the ordeal less painful. But he couldn't even print enough to cover it all; and the end result was only to make everything useless. He was driven further into bankruptcy, and his workload only grew.

Making money that was worth more as insulation than as currency was hardly comforting, but he made the best of it. He enjoyed working; he always had. As much as allies were comforting, there was something to be said for being alone for once. With his brother (and his vicious words) back in their home, and the annoyance of both allies and captives had been ridden from his home. He was free to simply be Germany, and he'd come to like such a sensation.

But enjoyment wasn't something he could really focus on; not when he was starving and becoming more bitter by the day. As he watched his territory crumble in depression, bitterness turned to anger which turned into desperation for any kind of relief. And, around him, the sentiment seemed to be the same. The former allies, the released captive of Italy, were just as sick, just as anxious, and just as clueless as to what needed to be done.

But, they were all equally convinced that something did in fact need to be done.

There was a man who came to Germany's house from Austria's; who had fallen hard for the new radical leaders in Italy and was seeping these ideas into Germany's head. This was someone who'd been slowly working his way through the ranks, preaching national pride and rallying against the utter humiliation that Germany had been forced to endure. This man told Germany that he could rid himself of all the lies the allies had spread to increase the reparations. He told him, in whispers that were audible but could be passed over if Germany tried not to listen hard enough, who the real enemies were.

Germany changed the conversation and asked if this man was simply looking to overthrow Versailles, which he excited to do. There was a gleam of something when the man brushed this off as Germany thinking too small. He was going to overthrow the treaty, yes, but he was going to do much more than that. All he needed was the power, and he was gaining that.

His ideas weren't always the most above-board, but damn it they were tempting. Even if some of it turned his stomach… This was a chance for change, a chance for revenge and recuperation. Regardless of any discomfort, regardless of all the parts of him that told him this wasn't right, he began to rally and prepare himself for another war behind the ally's backs.

Germany had gone to his brother's bedside, and over what dinner they could manage he explained that they were going to war again. Prussia had stopped eating immediately, and searched his brother's face for something. Whether he had found it or not, it seemed to be what had been desired as the smirk Germany had grown up with returned and began to spread.

His brother sped through rehabilitation, and joined his brother in beginning to plot. They built weapons and jails (at least, they told and convinced themselves they were such things), and mapped out plans in secret. When work was done at night, they took to walking along their boarders. France, predictably, had been the first to notice that something was amiss. He, too, spent his nights along his border, and watched the brothers over the construction of his anti-tank barricades.

He taunted that they would never make it through, and they smiled in return and agreed. France smugly thanked Germany for building defenses for him, and Germany welcomed him with all the false sincerity that he could stomach.

They watched Poland, and he watched back with defiance that was far less arrogant than it had been at one point. He wasn't mobile yet, not enough, anyway, to compete with panzers. He told them flatly (in terms that left much of it between the lines) that he'd fight back with everything they had, which they had agreed to because they knew it to be fact.

But, none the less, they were confident. Everyone was reeling from the war that had been inevitable and gruesome but pointless; even if it wasn't as badly as Germany. Most of Europe had colds, and were disinterested in starting another fight.

Russia had retreated deeper into his territory, and focused on quelling issues within it so thoroughly that it was difficult to so much as get him to step outside. He had, instead, drawn other countries into his house; and was apparently quick to lock the door because it became rather difficult to find them, as well.

America had retreated back to his territory under the spell of a great deal of medicine; though he was far more sick to his stomach than literally ill. He was in an economic boom and insisted, when asked, that he wanted a diplomatic and economic partnership instead of going back into battle. He declared, firmly, that he simply wanted to go back into his self-imposed isolation.

The time was right.

This new boss was dynamic, and had a way of working a crowd; especially one which was poverty-stricken, humiliated, and starving for a lot of things. He had them focus their anger any place he pointed; and there was more than enough anger to go around. He had them primed and ready for a fight, had them pulling at their chains. Respect, glory, power; it would all be gained back even if they had to kill for it.

And they would kill for it.

Germany spent his days in meetings while his brother continued to build. He announced firmly that he was no longer adhering to his restrictions; and that set off a firestorm of treaties attempting to contain him again. The League of Nations, though, rendered them essentially useless though; as Germany had discovered with more than a little satisfaction.

The day that they had switched to rations, Germany could barely stop from rushing in. His brother clamped a firm hand on him, and told him to wait. That voice in him, he said, that nagging one that kept saying to stop, was going to get louder if he wasn't patient.

Prussia had never been one to enjoy waiting, but the soldier in him kept him seated. He was static as he sipped wine and watched. He brushed off his brother's anxiousness with a laugh, and mocked the eager twitches in his hands that wanted more than anything to feel a gun again.

He said to gather allies, and that Germany did. Even if methods were unconventional, and Germany had to gain Italy's alignment by not opposing more than anything, he'd gathered them. But, even with his allies were gained, armed, and ready to fight, he still wasn't allowed to move.

Prussia demanded smoothly, seductively, that he was to be patient for a few moments more. He poured his brother a glass of the slowly emptying wine bottle, and toasted to a new world. Germany clinked his glass against his brother's, and resigned to watch, as well.

He sipped the sweet liquor as the angel ate the crumbs of a cake that Prussia had snuck for them; stolen from who knew who or where. Luxury they hadn't been able to afford for what felt like millennia, and that they wouldn't be able to have until they set everything right. The angel swallowed it almost casually, and Prussia had no interest in noticing it in favor of watching out the window.

Prussia held up a finger for patience. He knew… something. Germany didn't know what it was, and when it came he didn't know how (or, at least, didn't really want to know how).

The Polish had launched an attack.

Even sick and exhausted from his ordeal, when Germany started to move he felt there was nothing in the world that could stop him. His brother ran as fast as he could, but behind him now with legs that were shorter and slighter. It meant something, but Germany had no more time to contemplate.


End file.
